


the sorrows of your changing face

by InsolitaParvaPuella



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (kind of), Background Blood Drinking, Body Horror, Body Paint, F/M, Marking, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Transformation, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:48:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26754595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsolitaParvaPuella/pseuds/InsolitaParvaPuella
Summary: An old scar from the war troubles the King. A lack of scars troubles the Archbishop.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 8
Kudos: 38





	1. my scars are fading

**Author's Note:**

> title brazenly stolen from William Butler Yeats' "When You Are Old".
> 
> if you've read [the monsterfucking fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22692643/chapters/54237847) in "oh, burst me into bloom", this is my attempt to write it properly. with, like, a beginning, middle, end, and themes and shit. so there's your warning: this fic a) gets kinda dark and b) will contain monsterfucking (slightly different monster form, though). not adding the tag yet because i don't want to disappoint the monsterfuckers. i will not be mad if you wanna peace out of this one. happy kinktober <3

Byleth’s body hasn’t changed since the day she was transfigured, seven years ago. All her wounds have healed cleanly, no matter how dire. There are no subtle shifts in her appearance that come with age. Her husband calls it a divine gift, not feeling the weight of aging. But when she sees herself in the mirror, love-bitten and ruffled and glazed with pleasure, she still notices her old scars are fading.

It makes her skin itch; the last relics of her past are fading away. She is hardly about to wound herself to restore the scars, but she doesn’t want long stretches of unmarked skin, either. She cannot remember a time without the thick scar on her left knee, but it’s become smaller and fainter as time passes. Dimitri sees her stop in front of the mirror, and Byleth sees his expression go from love-drunk to worried.

“Beloved?”

“My scars are fading,” she says.

Two nights later, Dimitri offers her something new: a strange glass bottle filled with a deep blue powder. Curious, Byleth agrees to his plan before he can even explain it, then clambers across their wide bed to kiss him. His mouth is soft and pliant for a moment, then she hears his rough exhale. One of his hands settles high on her side, his fingers pressing gently into the gaps between her ribs. The other rests low on her back, giving her some support as his insistent kisses push her back into the mattress.

Unbalanced, Byleth collapses onto her side, Dimitri’s hand pinned under her waist. He flops next to her, using his hold on her to guide her over him, straddling his hips. His erection presses up against her bottom, and when she wiggles her hips Dimitri’s sigh is a sweet reward.

“Do you want me up here?” Byleth asks.

“I want you in whatever way you’re willing,” he says. “But you’ll need a moment to warm up first, I assume?”

Byleth nods, one hand already drifting to her breast.

“Allow me,” Dimitri says, taking her breasts into his large hands. For a second he simply adjusts his hold, until Byleth feels some weight off her back. “Don’t stop on my account,” he says after a moment, and Byleth smiles. Two fingers settle comfortably on her clit, and she massages it in a familiar rhythm, slow and easy circles while Dimitri massages her breasts.

It feels good, as familiar and comfortable as settling into a warm bath after a day of walking winter-chilled halls. Her skin tingles, the hair on the back of her neck rises. Relaxed, Byleth lets her head lull to the side, her eyes falling shut. Dimitri goes from massaging to kneading her breasts.

“Look at me, beloved,” he insists, and her eyelids flutter open. At her angle she has to look down her nose to meet his gaze. The love she sees there makes her smile; she hopes he can see the same love reflected back. She rocks her hips again to see those momentary flickers in his expression, his eyes falling shut and his eyebrows furrowing. Then they’re open again, and Byleth’s smile grows wider.

When Dimitri’s hands slide down her waist, settling on the softest part of her hips, she reaches down and guides him inside her. She goes slowly; her body needs very little time to adjust, but she likes to savour the feeling. Dimitri pulls her down with a sweet slowness, and Byleth tips her face to the ceiling, eyes closed so she can focus completely on the feeling.

When she’s fully settled, hips touching hips, Byleth looks down at Dimitri again. He’s looking quite shamelessly at her breasts, likely swollen from arousal and the work he’s done to them. She rolls her hips and _that_ draws his attention upwards, to her face and to her lip and to the place where she is biting it. 

“May I rearrange us?” Dimitri asks, a plan Byleth can’t quite interpret on his lips. But she carefully moves herself to Dimitri’s side, and he sits up. He pushes her gently to her hands and knees, then grips her hips firmly as he slides inside her once more. Byleth bites her lip for a moment and closes her eyes. Sometimes Dimitri gets like this and wants to take the lead in their lovemaking. And in moments like that, Byleth closes her eyes and lets the sensations overtake her.

It’s pleasure, coming in bursts and making her feel warm and liquid. It’s the firmness of her husband’s hands, one sliding down between her legs and one sliding up to the bottom of her ribs. He’s developed a delicate touch with her, but she has the benefit of being quite sturdy. Dimitri’s been rough with her before, on her request, when she’s been curious to know if pain would heighten or dampen her pleasure. His strength is impressive, but she’s only gotten better at handling it.

He presses up against her ribs and Byleth follows his suggestion, going up, up, up, until her shoulder blades touch his chest. Dimitri holds her in place, his hand sliding higher yet, until her breast is caught in the crook of his elbow and his hand rests softly at the base of her throat. He’s not quite massaging her clit, or putting the right pressure on her throat, but the friction is constant and each thrust ends in pleasure for her.

“Yes, beloved, just like that…” Dimitri groans into her hair. Byleth might have an answer in other circumstances, but she’s let go of her thoughts, swapped control for pleasure. Even if she could think of words to say, Dimitri’s hand would keep them all trapped in her throat.

Byleth hears the tell-tale groan, feels her husband’s pace stutter, and knows he’s done. For a few moments he pants, his breath leaving a patch of warmth and damp on her cheek. Then he slowly and deliberately collapses to the side, taking her down with him and closing his arms around her. Byleth rises slowly back to a full awareness, her mind swimming in warmth and her body tingling. She hasn’t finished, but she feels no special urge for it this time. Feeling the tides of pleasure go out is enough, an easy end to the night to complement her husband falling and crashing into bliss.

Dimitri’s hand strokes her hip gently. “Did you finish, my love?”

“No, but I’m satisfied.” Byleth reaches up clumsily, patting the back of his hand. She’s mostly found her head again; in a minute or so she’ll feel the urge to clean up.

After a moment of quiet, Dimitri says, “It feels like you’re different, from time to time. Unguarded. Like you’ve let go of everything and are more honest. Not to imply you’re deceptive otherwise. Only that it feels like your body sometimes communicates without a mediator. Like tonight.”

Byleth isn’t sure what to say about that. In any other circumstance she would be horrified, but in these moments of intimacy, she feels safe releasing the tightly-held reins over her mind and body. But the reins are back in her hands now, and she doesn’t know how to release them again. She shifts slightly, and Dimitri’s softened member slips from her. Before she can make a mess of the bedding, she rolls to her feet, taking quick steps to the water closet.

Something catches her attention in the corner of her eye. When she turns, it takes a moment to realise she is looking at herself. Everywhere Dimitri’s hands touched or held or stroked her, there are lines of dark blue pigment. Her scars have vanished under a layer of Blaiddyd blue. Semen and arousal drip down her leg, but she can’t look away. It should be obvious, but it’s still striking to see a record of their lovemaking left on her skin.


	2. my body has begun to change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's where the body horror kicks off in earnest. have fun!

The mystery of her vanishing scars has made Byleth more attentive to ones that are not her own. Her husband has more than his fair share of scars, though they’ve never seemed to trouble him. She wonders about other people’s scars at times, but she knows enough about being an Archbishop and Queen now to know that asking someone—even a dear friend like Dedue—to strip down and show her their scars would be a scandal unlike anything ever seen before. Seteth would have her head, at the very least.

So she keeps her explorations limited to the one person she can see in the nude whenever she likes. Dimitri is patient with her, letting her examine his body with little self-consciousness. And when she’s done, Byleth is happy to put her knowledge of his body to full use.

She’s happy, for a while. An early snowfall means that she can’t return to Garreg Mach, and the delay is pleasant. The cold means she does not get to see her husband in the nude, but they lie close in the darkness with their noses warmed by each other’s breaths. 

Beyond having more time with her husband, she gets more time with her once-students when they come to Castle Fhirdiad. Dedue is a constant presence, content to serve his King, correspond to his once-classmates, and make frequent excursions to Duscur. Byleth doesn’t share the same intimate friendship with him that her husband does, but she finds that she is content to share peaceful silence with him.

In one of those moments, enjoying a cup of tea with Dedue in her private sitting room, the atmosphere changes. She knows immediately that they share similar concerns.

“Your Majesty,” Dedue starts (Byleth had tried to convince him to use her name once, but only got as far as convincing him that she could still be called Professor), “you must have noticed the changes.”

“I have,” she agrees. “The scar under his collarbone, from his battle with—the final battle in Enbarr. The skin around it has changed dramatically.”

Dedue looks surprised, which takes Byleth by surprise as well. One unusual change in her husband could mean many things. But two in short order points to something more severe.

“I didn’t know. I haven’t seen that scar in some time. Not since the war. I was speaking of the King’s appetite. He’s spoken about preferring raw foods. Including meat. To survive alone, during those five years, he did many things he’s not proud of, to survive. Having an appetite for what he ate back then, it distresses him.”

Byleth sets aside her teacup. Her mouth is getting dry, but she has no desire to drink any more. 

“If we’ve noticed these things, Dimitri’s probably found more changes, if there are any. We need to speak to him,” she says.

That night, she does. She takes his hand gently, and opens his shirt until the troubling scar is exposed. The skin around it is hardening, turning dry and breaking into scales perhaps half the size of her palm. It’s changed remarkably quickly, from a patch of dry skin to this in short order.

“Where is this scar from?” she asks.

“Sometime during the battle in Enbarr,” he answers. “I don’t know if it was one of the peculiar dark mages or—well, something else. I didn’t notice the wound until much later.”

“And you’re aware that it’s doing things no normal scar would do,” she pressed.

“I… yes, I know, beloved. I was going to speak to you about it.”

Dimitri takes her hand and together they sit at the edge of their marriage bed. He strokes the side of her face. Byleth sees his expression grow soft and sad. Like he’s about to say goodbye. She sets her hand on top of his, holding it to her cheek, and watches him. He’ll speak when he’s ready.

“My body has begun to change, and I fear I know how it will progress,” he says. “My body demands blood, instead of food. My skin is changing, beginning at my scar. And if you trace my spine, you will find something else.”

Curious, Byleth does just that, leaning into her husband and running her fingers down his spine, slipping her fingers under his trousers to reach the end. But when she touches his tailbone, it doesn’t end. She withdraws her hand instantly, looking up at him.

“A tail?” she asks, unable to imagine another alternative.

“It won’t be obscured for much longer. It is only the fortunate change in the weather and my ability to wear heavier clothing that have obscured the changes this long. I fear that soon, I’ll be a monster, much like the ones we slayed in the war.” He shuffles a short distance away from her. She closes the distance again, her hands finding his.

“We can’t stay, can we?” she asks, already thinking of ways to leave.

“I can imagine no future where the people see the king transfigured into a beast and no chaos breaks out,” Dimitri agrees.

“Then we tell the people that we have taken ill, and will not be seen. We will have the castle run by those we trust most dearly. And we will go somewhere else, where we can try and solve this,” Byleth says, once again a tactician.

“That deception is a dangerous one. We would have a month, two at the very most, before we would be discovered.”

“Then we have two months to uncover the source of the problem.” Byleth’s tone is firm and even. There are no right answers, but at least this one gives them a chance to solve the mystery of his transformation before it causes chaos.

“I can’t stand the thought of abandoning my people once again,” Dimitri says, letting Byleth guide his face into her shoulder. He rests there, hands in her lap. “But you’re right, as you so often are.”

Fraldarius grants them the use of their winter lodge, willing to comply with the request for total secrecy. Gustave is given the task to keep the castle at peace, and Mercedes is willing to feign delivering medical care to the royal family. Byleth and Dimitri ride out of the castle in the dead of night, Dedue serving as a rear guard, disguised as middle-ranked members of the court.

By noon, they’ve made it to the lodge. The household staff is still turning it over, having not guessed it would be in use so early in the winter, but the bedroom is waiting for them. Dimitri spends long minutes filing his nail, which now grow faster and thicker, ending in points that might yet become dangerous. Byleth has books, and a letter pleading for Annette to come and help her uncover the source of this transformation.

In the week it takes Annette to arrive, Dimitri’s body no longer accepts any food but raw meat or blood.


End file.
